The Qualities of Wood (26 page)

She nodded, embarrassed.

‘For all those years, it made me angry that my father had to live with this, this accident. It just about ruined him.' The cords in his neck tightened. ‘Betty Gardiner was a good woman. She made a point of telling my folks she didn't hold anybody responsible, but my father's guilt was something nobody could save him from.'

‘It must have been very hard for him.'

‘Yes.'

‘And for you.'

Mr Stokes shrugged. ‘Children have a way of teasing each other. I had my share of misunderstanding. The worst part was the way Sherman treated me. He was almost a grown man when I was born, but he looked down on me. He felt like I'd taken the life that was robbed from his father. I was born five years after the accident, but I think it helped him to blame me.'

‘Did he do anything?' she asked.

‘Tried to spook me, I think, in the woods. He and his friends used to shoot guns out there, get awful close to our place. Always gave me the evil eye in town. Before he moved away.'

‘How often did he come back here?'

‘Not much at first. I remember once he brought his two sons – they were just little tikes then – and one of them walked right up to my house. I guess now that it was Lonnie. Later, he came more often, especially in the last few years before I heard that he passed.'

Vivian lowered her voice. ‘What did he do here?'

Mr Stokes shifted on his feet. ‘I couldn't say.'

‘Did he know Kitty Brodie?'

He met her gaze. ‘You'd have to ask her about that.'

‘You were a neighbor to both of them.'

His face spread into his lop-sized grin. ‘If it's one thing I learned from living with those stories about the hunting accident, it's don't open your mouth about your opinion of things.'

Vivian walked over to Mr Stokes. ‘It was an accident,' she said.

He hesitated, then spoke again. ‘My father had a long illness before he passed. He got weak and small before my eyes. That's a hard thing for a son. Sometimes he'd get delirious, from the pain or the medication, I don't know which. One time he said he was glad he shot Russell Gardiner.'

‘He didn't mean it. He was dying, and…'

‘He said that he waited until everybody was off somewhere. Russell veered to the left, to cover the wide plank, and he followed…'

‘Enough!' Vivian said, covering her ears. ‘We don't know if that's true.'

Mr Stokes gently pulled her arms down. His face was close; she could see the pores of his skin. ‘It might be,' he said.

‘You shouldn't repeat that story,' she whispered.

He released her arms. ‘Don't you think I feel responsible? I remember those boys when they were young, you see, and I know what it's like, losing someone. They grew up without a grandfather, and I grew up without a father. He was never the same after the accident.'

Vivian stepped back, trying to process everything he had told her. He didn't believe that his father had purposely pulled the trigger, but yet Jesper had confessed when he was dying. She was more confused than ever.

‘The minute something happens,' Mr Stokes said, ‘that moment is lost forever. There's no truth. Just stories. Just rumors. Isn't it the same? I know people talk about that accident, even now, just like I know that they talk about Ronella Oates, and about Sherman and Kitty Brodie, and now, about Kitty's daughter.'

‘What about Ronella Oates?' Vivian asked.

He shook his head. ‘Ronella would sneak out and meet someone in the woods. She was staying at the house while my father was away. It gave her a kick, I think, to do it right under my nose. The man would park his truck along the main road, not far from the driveway over here, then meet her halfway back.' Mr Stokes stared through the triangle of windows at the rustling treetops. ‘Everyone's got a heart-break, Mrs Gardiner. It's nothing special to me. But there's something about the woods, haven't you felt it?'

She looked where he was looking, through the windows. ‘No, I don't feel anything.' She turned back towards him. ‘But how can I find out the whole story, I mean, about Sherman and Mrs Brodie?'

A crease spread across Mr Stokes's forehead. He wiped his palms against his hips. They made a dry, scratchy sound like paper. ‘Haven't you been listening? The minute something happens, that moment is lost forever. So there is no story, not for sure, and even if there was, why would you want to know it?'

Vivian's gaze traveled from the swirling trees to a complex spider web she had missed in the far corner of the attic, finally coming back to rest on Mr Stokes's weathered face. ‘You agreed to call me Vivian,' she reminded him.

In the twilight hours, business at the yard sale slowed again. The trees hung heavy with the day's heat and a faint buzz sounded through the fragrant air. Lonnie hovered near Dot as she reorganized the tables, shifting and condensing, and he pulled tables where she wanted them. Dot had an endearing vulnerability, which had nothing to do with her size or physical strength, but more with her assenting demeanor, the way she listened and let people make up their own minds. Vivian had felt it from the first moment, when she emerged from behind Lonnie then blushed charmingly when he forced them to embrace. She made people want to take care of her.

Vivian had taken up residence on the foldout lawn chair. John Delaney's book,
Another History
, sat in her lap but she was distracted; her thoughts turned constantly to her conversation with Mr Stokes. As Nowell and Lonnie loaded the short dresser onto the back of Mr Stokes's truck, they waited on the porch with Dot. Mr Stokes asked if they were going to the festival the following weekend.

‘I'll be gone for a few days,' Dot said. ‘I'm going to visit my mother.'

‘That's too bad,' Mr Stokes said. ‘They're already setting up a carousel and some tents across from the park in that empty lot.'

‘We'll be there,' Vivian said. ‘Will they have a Ferris wheel?'

‘I imagine they will.'

As Nowell pushed, Lonnie pulled the dresser up. His feet made dull thuds on the truck bed and when the end cleared the back, he jumped over the side, landing in a puff of dust. Nowell shut the tailgate, shaking it to make sure it locked.

They watched as Mr Stokes backed his truck out of the driveway. The late afternoon sky was motionless, a hazy, darkening blue. Here and there a wisp of a cloud, almost translucent, streaked across the sky like a brushstroke. The leaves in the trees shone with a light layer of wax.

‘I'll be heading to town in a while,' Lonnie said to Nowell. ‘You should come along. We'll probably just shoot some darts, maybe have a few beers.'

Dot walked down the steps to the lawn, where she busied herself moving around a stack of books.

‘When are you going?' Nowell asked.

‘As soon as I have something to eat. Maybe that leftover pizza.'

‘I had the last of it for lunch.'

‘There's some casserole left,' Vivian offered.

‘Why don't we all have dinner in town?' Lonnie said. ‘Let's go to that steak place.'

‘We ate there before you were here,' Nowell told Vivian. ‘It's in that mini-mall.'

‘That's the one,' Lonnie said. ‘Great burgers.'

‘You men and your feedings,' Dot said.

‘How late do you think people will come for the yard sale?' Nowell asked Vivian.

‘Not too late.'

‘I don't really want to leave them alone,' he said to Lonnie.

‘Don't worry,' Vivian said. ‘I don't think anyone will come after dark.'

‘Why don't we all go?' Lonnie said again.

‘Somebody should be here,' Vivian said. ‘The three of you can go.'

‘I'm staying,' Dot said.

‘I'm tired,' Vivian said. ‘Dot and I will put the smaller things away tonight, and tomorrow you can clean everything up. That's fair.' She thought it odd that Lonnie would go out, with Dot leaving in the morning, but it was none of her business.

After the men left, Dot went into the house to start packing for her trip, and Vivian leaned back on the porch swing. She watched the faded white planks as they swung, pendulum-like, over her head. But it's really me that's swinging, she thought. Maybe Mr Stokes is right, she thought. We'll never know the truth of what happened that day, the truth of what was in Jesper Stokes's heart, or any of them. What remains are the survivors, the stories, what people believe. But what if it's all a misunderstanding? Couldn't it be cleared up? Shouldn't it be? What about the time she got lost in the woods? Sometimes, in a dreamy state or her quietest moments, Vivian wasn't really sure what had happened. Did she wander off on purpose – it certainly seemed that she did – or did her guilt over the years lead her to believe that she had? Because it was terrible when her father came to get her, the way he clutched her and his coat buttons pressed against
her side, the way his eyes glistened in the car and the way he lowered his head to her mother's accusations. Did it really matter what happened, or were they just left to deal with what remained?

‘Oh, Vivian!' She felt a soft tug on her shoulder, a slight shaking. Groggily, she opened her eyes. She must have fallen asleep on the porch.

Dot stood over her, haloed by the porch light. ‘I had no idea you were sleeping out here,' she said.

Vivian sat up, yawning. It was fairly dark already. ‘What time is it?'

‘Seven-thirty,' Dot said, chuckling. ‘I fell asleep too.' She tilted her head towards the yard, where all of the yard sale items still sat out. ‘I guess we're not used to having an actual job. Really tired me out. I slept for over two hours.'

The moon sat on the spread of treetops like a pale egg in a nest. It was a hazy moon, gray-white with blurred edges. In the city, Vivian had seldom noticed the moon's infinite variations and effects. The current moon held its surroundings in a pregnant lull; its soft light reflected from the old white paint and made everything glow. Other times, she had seen another moon, one with a texture like stucco that stood out boldly in stark relief against a cobalt sky. Its light was harsher, its range broader. But the light of this night's moon, the hazy, gentle moon, trod softly across the high grass and the short hills. Like candlelight, it flattered its subjects.

The moon could be painted over and over, Vivian thought, like Monet's water lilies. She felt at that moment her unique place in the world. She wondered how her impressions could ever be reproduced, because the distance between perception and idea was like the space between two skyscrapers. One had to leap across. If I were to measure
and draw the scene according to proper linear perspective, the moon would seem smaller and farther away than how it feels to me at this moment. Maybe everything doesn't fit into a pattern, she thought, maybe things are only as they appear in a single moment.

Crickets belted out their fractious melody underneath the house. One day soon they would leave this house, and Vivian would miss the openness and calm of the land, the way the trees stood guard like sentries, the moon like a changing spotlight on their lives. As the first night breeze collected somewhere in the distance and blew softly across her skin, she contemplated the changes to come.

The next day, Saturday, turned out to be the busiest of the three-day yard sale. People arrived early again, only this time, Vivian was ready with a thermos of coffee and a plate of warm cinnamon rolls.

Lonnie burst through the door and onto the porch. ‘Vivian, tell Dot you don't want her to leave.'

Dot followed closely behind, carrying a handful of napkins to set with the rolls. ‘Lonnie, please,' she said.

‘We're going to miss you, that's all. Right, Vivian?'

‘Yes,' she said.

‘I have to go,' Dot said. ‘Lonnie, you know it won't be a fun trip for me. Besides, I'll be back in a week.'

‘If you run there every time she calls…'

Dot whirled around. ‘What if she really needs me this time?'

He gave her a skeptical look.

She laid out the napkins, one over the other, in a half-circle. ‘You'd do the same, if it was your mother.'

Vivian went back into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee. In a few moments, Dot came inside. ‘I need to pick up a few things for my trip,' she said. ‘Do you mind if I leave for a couple of hours?'

‘No, go ahead.'

‘Lonnie is staying.'

‘Thanks,' Vivian said. ‘Nowell can be roused from his work, too.'

‘Okay.' Dot stood in the center of the kitchen, her hands on her hips. ‘Okay,' she said again. ‘Do you need anything from town?'

‘No,' Vivian said. ‘It may be pretty crazy down there today. They're having that parade at noon, then the big thing at the park.'

‘You're right, it'll be crowded. I'll go now, while it's still early.'

‘Good idea.'

‘One more thing,' Dot said. ‘Could I borrow the truck? Lonnie wants to do something to the jeep while I'm gone.'

‘Do you think you can drive it?'

‘Drives like other cars, doesn't it?'

‘It's big, that's all. It took me a while to get used to it.'

She smiled. ‘I'm a little taller than you and besides, you've got that pillow in there. I'll just sit on that, like you do.'

‘The keys are hanging by the door.'

After she left, Vivian stared out the kitchen window. She could see the corner of the wooden shed and a distance from that, the gray stones of the musty-smelling well. Overhead, a brownish bird jumped from branch to branch, then buried his long beak behind his wings. From the study, Nowell's light taps on the computer keyboard were barely audible over the humming of the refrigerator, which had started up suddenly as she stood there. In the front yard, Lonnie called her name.

She walked outside and greeted a woman who had offered half-price for the brass coat rack. Vivian quickly agreed to her terms and asked Lonnie to load the item into her truck. ‘I'm surprised anyone would buy that,' she said to him as the woman drove away. ‘It's so tarnished.'

‘You'd be amazed what you can do to old things like that,' Lonnie said. ‘All you need is a good brass polish. Cleans right up, good as new. That was a nice dresser you sold to Mr Stokes, too. A coat of stain was all it needed.'

‘Did you want it?' Vivian asked. ‘I told you, if you see anything…'

‘No, I didn't want it. I'm only pointing out that some things are worth saving. Like this jeep.' He patted the roof. ‘It was rebuilt with junkyard materials. The engine is from a jeep that was totaled, and the body once caught on fire. It was a hobby with the guy who sold it to me, restoring things.' He walked around to the front and looked under the hood. ‘Haven't had a single problem. It's got four good tires and a new battery. The seats were reupholstered after the fire. I guess they were pretty charred. We don't use the air conditioning much, but it works. I tested it the other day.'

‘That reminds me,' Vivian said. ‘Did your mother get her air conditioner at the house fixed?'

‘I think so. You'd have to ask Nowell.'

She pushed her hair from her forehead. ‘Your mom doesn't ask you for many favors, does she?'

Lonnie looked up, his forehead creasing into three long crevices. ‘No, she usually asks Nowell. You know that.'

‘Why is that?'

‘Because Nowell is the one who'll come. He's trying to make it up to her.'

‘For what?'

‘For not being around earlier, for going off to college, for not taking over my dad's business.' He wiped the tip of a cable, the wire connection, with a red rag. ‘Mostly, he's trying to make up for my dad. Only, I don't think he knows it.'

‘What did your dad do?'

‘He wasn't around either.'

Vivian felt a chill on her arm. ‘Where was he?'

‘Good question,' Lonnie peered at her sideways as he leaned over the open mouth of the jeep. ‘Traveling for the business, trying to make sales.'

‘He traveled a lot?'

‘Not when we were real young, but later.'

‘He didn't say where he was going?'

‘Oh, sure. He could name towns. He talked about people he met and deals he made. At the time, I believed him.'

‘But then you didn't?'

‘Didn't what?'

‘Believe he was going where he said he was going.'

Lonnie's eyes widened. ‘I said that?'

Vivian sighed. ‘Did you believe him?'

‘What else was I supposed to think?' He walked around the edge of the jeep, turned a cap on something and yanked it off.

Vivian smelled the dank rustiness of water and metal; she could taste it on her tongue. She was tired of dodging the subject. ‘Did you know that your dad came out here a few times a year?'

Lonnie wiped the black rubber cap on the side of his shirt and tapped it back into position with his fist. ‘He came more than that.'

She was shocked. Nobody else had confirmed what Katherine told her. ‘How do you know?'

‘I followed him one time, when I was sixteen or seventeen. I walked in as he was sitting in the kitchen there, having cake with my Grandma Gardiner like it was an everyday thing.'

‘What did he say?'

‘Nothing. I had been here a couple of times as a kid. After he pulled up to the house, I drove around for a while then came back. I didn't know if my grandma would recognize me after so much time, but she looked right up and called me by name. What a nice surprise, she said, that I came with him.'

‘Why did he keep his visits secret?' Vivian asked. ‘Why didn't he bring everybody – your mom, Nowell?'

‘I don't know, maybe he didn't want to share. My grandma treated him like a king, and me too while I was here. Every morning she'd cook a big breakfast: homemade biscuits, sausage and gravy. I stayed for two nights then headed home. I think he stayed a couple more days that time.'

‘And your mother never knew?'

‘No.'

‘You never wanted to tell her?'

‘Sure I did.' Lonnie ran his hand through his dark hair, which had grown out a little since they arrived. ‘I thought he would tell her. The business was really growing, and I think he was having some problems with Mr Ward, his partner. That's why he started traveling in the first place. I had no idea at the time how long it had been going on.'

‘The visits?' she asked.

He blinked. ‘Yeah, the visits. All those years, we quit doing things as a family. He'd say he didn't have time, he was trying to build the business for us. And here he was, coming out here while our own grandma was a stranger to us. He was selfish, that's all there is to it.' He wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve, leaving a speck of oil. ‘She remembered it, the time I followed him. Remember when I was laid up, after the motorcycle crash?'

Vivian nodded.

‘When my grandma came, we talked about that visit. We watched a television show together while I was here, she said. Something about angels. I didn't remember that. I mostly thought about those big breakfasts.' Lonnie reached across the engine and
adjusted something. ‘It's a shame, my mom and my grandma both living alone. My mom was so lonely, especially after Nowell left. He always thinks that it was me, but she missed him a lot. She missed them both. Ever since I can remember, she's been lonely. That's why she spends so much time down at her clubs and at the church; that's why she volunteers to do all those things. I had to let myself off the hook. I couldn't do anything about what he did. I can't even regret keeping quiet about what I knew, because I don't think telling her would have made any difference.'

Vivian had been quiet, soaking in everything Lonnie said. ‘Nowell never knew, about your dad?'

‘He doesn't want to know anything.'

‘But you said he tries to make up for it.'

‘And I said that he doesn't know that he's doing it. He'll never admit that anything was ever wrong or that anything is wrong with her now.'

‘You think something's wrong with your mom?'

‘Ignoring something doesn't make it go away,' he said.

In all the time she'd been at the house, Vivian had felt that there was a mystery of sorts. But after what Mr Stokes had said, after she began to realize what role her own imagination had been playing, she wasn't sure. ‘You said yourself,' she told Lonnie, ‘it wouldn't do any good to tell her. Besides, he was just coming to visit his mother.'

Lonnie leaned against the door of the jeep, crossing his arms over his chest. Reddish-brown hairs poked over his green tank top, matching the whiskers that sprung from his jaw and chin. She had always thought that his beard was darker than Nowell's, but it was the same hue, exactly. ‘It's about keeping secrets, Vivian. I've done the same
as them, that's all. I had to pretend then, and I still pretend now. Maybe I didn't do anything wrong, but I didn't open my mouth, either. I didn't force Nowell to come home and see what was happening, I didn't force my mom to stand up for herself. I stood by and let her fall. Dad was gone most of the time by then, just before he died. You know that argument I had with Nowell about the Father's Day shirt?'

She nodded.

‘I think it stays in my mind because in a way, I was trying to get my dad to come back. It sounds crazy now. A tie or a shirt can't make someone do anything, but I thought it might. I wanted to pick something just right. I didn't have enough money, but I was willing to pay it back. I had just gotten a new job, a good one. I thought he'd be proud.' His eyes were glistening. ‘That's why it made me so mad. It sounds stupid now, but sometimes I still think I could've done something. I just stayed there, just let her fall. I was as bad as Nowell, but at least he didn't know everything.'

Katherine's light green car turned slowly onto the driveway and pulled up next to the jeep.

‘I worry about Dot,' Lonnie said. ‘I wish she wouldn't do this alone, but she won't let me go with her.'

Vivian took a step towards Lonnie. ‘What do you mean about Nowell not knowing everything?'

‘And I've seen what can happen to women. They're defenseless sometimes.'

She didn't know who he was talking about – Dot, his mother, Dot's mother, or something else entirely. If Sherman had been visiting his mother without telling his wife,
that was dishonest and maybe even childish, but Lonnie talked about his absences with such bitterness.

Katherine waved from the passenger seat and beside her, Max grinned behind the wheel.

Vivian turned back to Lonnie, but he had moved to the rear of the jeep and was pulling a red metal toolbox from behind the seats.

Katherine got out of the car first. ‘Hello!'

‘Is this the place I've been hearing about?' Max asked.

‘Depends on what you've been hearing,' Vivian said.

‘Great deals,' he said.

‘Then this is the place.'

A station wagon stopped along the main road and two more customers walked onto the lawn. Vivian got the tool belt that Katherine had set aside for Max, and she answered a few questions for the other people. Lonnie was still tinkering around the jeep, ducking his head under the hood and pulling tools from his box. Vivian walked around with Katherine and Max as they inspected the items for sale.

‘Have you been into town?' Katherine asked.

‘Not for a few days,' Vivian said.

‘It's packed down there. I've never seen it so crowded.'

‘How are things going with the reunion?'

She picked up a ceramic flower vase. ‘I think everything's running smoothly. We had the store open yesterday, so we saw all the people running around. Looks like a bunch of Clements to me.'

‘You can't tell them apart from anyone else,' Max said.

‘I'm just kidding. What do you think of this vase, Max?'

‘For two bucks, it's a steal.'

Katherine tucked it under her arm; her bracelets clanked against its hard surface. ‘They had an emergency city council meeting, over letting some woman hand out pamphlets during the celebrations.'

‘I think I met her,' Vivian said. ‘Delta Clement Burnside. I went to the community center and she was outside,' she explained.

Katherine leaned over. ‘I guess hardly anyone bothered to show for the meeting. Seems everyone was pretty certain they'd keep that Fire – what was her name?'

‘Burnside.'

‘Right. Everyone was sure they'd keep her away. There were only twenty or so there, but here's the interesting thing. Guess who spoke up in favor of letting her attend?'

Vivian shrugged.

‘Mr Stokes.'

‘What does he have to do with any of that?'

‘Got me,' Katherine said.

They watched as Max picked up an old wooden bat and practiced his swing.

‘What did he say?' Vivian asked.

‘Something about peoples' right to freedom. He said it wasn't fair to keep people away, that it was like putting animals in cages, keeping them from running. My friend remembered that, putting animals in cages. She thought it was a strange thing to say, but I guess he really made his point. Didn't matter, of course.'